Forsaken Scion
by KneazleGriff
Summary: Eleven years ago, a child of prophecy was born under a shroud of secrecy. A complex web of deception kept the boy and his father safe, shielding them not only from danger, but from truths too painful to reveal. Unfortunately, that web of deception also deprived them of the one thing they both needed most. Each other. Harry/Snape Severitus fic. Warnings inside.
1. Chapter 1

**Forsaken Scion**

by KneazleGriff

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**Summary: **Eleven years ago, a child of prophecy was born under a shroud of secrecy. A complex web of deception kept the boy and his father safe, shielding them not only from danger, but from truths too painful to reveal. Unfortunately, that web of deception also deprived them of the one thing they both needed most. Each other. Harry/Snape Severitus fic.

**Appreciation: **Special thanks to my beta, **YenGirl**, for agreeing to tackle yet another one of my angsty, emotional brainchildren.

**Warnings: **This fic will contain mentions of a rape – though it will not be graphically described – domestic violence and male pregnancy. If any of these three subjects make you uncomfortable or are subjects you would prefer not to read about, then this story is not for you. Also, there will be some significant James bashing, as well as some mild Sirius bashing. So once again, I will warn you, if James Potter and Sirius Black are your favorite HP characters, perhaps you should not read on.

**Rating: **Rated M due to occasional violence, mentions of rape and an overall theme that may be considered controversial or disturbing for some. Readers ages seventeen and over, please.

**Disclaimer: **All characters belong to J.K. Rowling, wickedly twisted for my immense enjoyment.

**A/N: **OK. Now that I have all those prerequisite warnings out of the way, I want to take a step back and assure you that this story will NOT be all angst, I promise! This is, after all, a Severitus fic and I plan to deliver what most Severitus fics out there deliver... emotional unrest, yes... but also those lovely, heartfelt feelings of family, trust and parental love that we all want so badly for Harry and Severus to experience with one another. Of course, the 'all is well' and 'happy ending' kind of stuff won't be immediate. There's much too much pain to overcome first.

One more comment before I leave you to it and here it is: Though this IS a Severitus, I must caution you not to jump into this story with a pre-conceived notion of what exactly that means. I don't particularly enjoy re-hashing the same old tried and true plots, so when I decided to try my hand at a Snape/Harry father/son story, I was determined to come at it from a different angle. I think I have achieved that. :)

Alright. Here's chapter one. I hope you enjoy it!

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**Forsaken Scion**

**Chapter One - Requisite Disclosure**

"Severus? Severus, my boy… are you still up?"

The roar of the floo coming to life, followed by the jarring sound of the Headmaster's inquiring voice, yanked Severus from a deep slumber.

Jerking upright from where he had fallen asleep slumped over a mountain of end-of-year exams he had been grading, Severus somehow managed to leap to a standing position in one reflexive motion, his chair clattering to the floor behind him. He whipped around, brandishing what he thought was his wand, before noticing his mistake and promptly lowering his eagle owl quill to the surface of his desk.

Chagrined by his overreaction, Severus strove to collect himself. He ran a hand through his lank hair and cleared his throat, drawing in a deep, lengthy breath so as to give his startled heart time to slow its quickened pace.

"Forgive me, Headmaster. I was not expecting a visit from you so late in the evening. Or rather so early in the morning," he corrected upon catching a glimpse of the grandfather clock in the corner of his sitting room. Its ornate brass hands indicated a time well past midnight.

"I'm sorry to have disturbed you at this hour," Albus prefaced. His sapphire blue eyes were lacking their customary jovial gleam, a variant detail that instantly made Severus feel ill at ease. "Unfortunately, there was a bit of an incident earlier this evening involving three first-year students, two of whom incurred minor injuries. Poppy has things under control of course, but the third student may require two potions she does not currently have in stock. I was hoping you might."

"An incident?" Severus blinked, his unease growing, the Headmaster's words prompting an unexpected trickle of cold dread to settle in his stomach. "What kind of incident?"

Albus' brief and somewhat blasé mention of this 'incident' sounded innocuous enough, but Severus suspected there was more to it than the Headmaster was intimating. It was rather morose of him to jump to such conclusions, he realized, but his propensity to gravitate toward dire assumptions had intensified over the last few months. With that wretched stone concealed within the bowels of the school all year and his increasing suspicions that Quirrell was trying to steal it, most of his thoughts these days veered toward the macabre.

"Nothing to worry about, my boy," the Headmaster insisted. "I will be sure to brief you and the rest of the staff in the morning. For now, I am only in need of a couple of potions."

Severus' dark eyes narrowed in growing mistrust, his gaze locking with those aged eyes that looked more hazel than the deep cerulean he knew them to be, the flaring green flames of his floo altering their vivid hue. Despite their variance, those penetrating orbs maintained their intense, piercing nature, amplifying Severus' already anxious demeanor and deepening his trepidation.

"What potions does Poppy require?" he asked at last, ebony eyes still leveled at the reticent wizard.

"One vial of Cardiac Stabilizing Draught as well as one vial of Inhibiting Elixir."

At the Headmaster's reply, Severus' heart seemed to stop beating for a moment before that trickle of dread he had been experiencing during the last few minutes escalated into an all-out torrential flood of panic.

"An Inhibiting Elixir?! Albus–!"

"Poppy has everything under control, Severus, I assure you. The need for such a potion is merely a precaution," Albus asserted, a smile that was obviously forced curving his heavily lined lips.

The man's placating words and his attempt at nonchalance did nothing to assuage Severus' disquiet. Severus knew – and suspected Albus did as well – that an Inhibiting Elixir was not a typical standby potion, kept at arm's length as a mere precautionary measure in case another potion did not yield a desired effect. No – an Inhibiting Elixir was only ever used as a last resort and only under such grave and rare conditions as when a witch or wizard's magic had turned rogue, attacking his or her own body while in the process of trying to rid it of a perceived threat. This situation could only occur if said witch or wizard was unlucky enough to be cursed with or come in contact with exceedingly Dark magic and even then, this particular potion would not readily be considered a viable solution. The victim's own attacking magic would have to be aggressive enough to be considered life-threatening. Otherwise, a potion to deplete a wizard's magical core would never even be considered. The half dozen or so times throughout Wizarding history when this elixir _had _been resorted to, the victim was rendered magically impotent afterwards, a fate so odious, that it was only ever utilized if the victim's central nervous system was in the process of shutting down… or if the victim's heart had stopped… or...

_Oh God!_

"She wants an Inhibiting Elixir _and_ a Cardiac Stabilizing Draught?!" Severus parroted in a hoarse voice, horrid understanding rocketing through him now. His thoughts were racing a mile a minute, his mind inundated with images of all sorts of unpleasant and dire outcomes that would occur should the worst happen – a second dark stain upon Hogwarts after fifty years, investigations and claims of negligence, swarms of reporters... not to mention the distraught parents of that very unlucky child...

"Again, Severus, I must stress to you that Poppy has everything under control. She is simply attempting to be proactive in the event–"

"Albus!"

Poppy's shrill and panicked voice cut off the Headmaster's emphatic words of reassurance, prompting the elderly man's head to disappear momentarily from the floo. Severus had but a second to feel those tendrils of heightened dread ascend from the pit of his stomach to clutch at his racing heart, when Albus reappeared, his previous composure foregone.

"Severus!" he exclaimed, more than a trace of panic to his tone now. "The potions! Do you have them?!"

Severus did not spare the time to answer. He yanked his wand from the inside pocket of his robes and summoned the required potions with haste, shoving them into a small satchel he pulled from his desk drawer.

"Step aside, Headmaster – I'm coming through," he commanded as he hurried over to the hearth, determination stealing through him. There was a child whose life was in danger and he would be damned if he just sat back and did nothing to prevent the unthinkable from occurring.

Despite being considered callous and apathetic by the student body and most of the teaching staff alike, Severus was very much an emotional being; he just happened to be more adept at hiding his emotions than most – a skill he had perfected after years of rigorous Occlumency training. He only wished he'd been in possession of this skill during his youth, when a gratuitous display of emotion meant a thrashing from his drunken father or worse, a public demonstration of Marauder brutality.

Right now however, Severus was finding it more difficult than usual to employ said skill, his current fear beginning to rival any inspired by his abusive father or his childhood adversaries.

When he stepped out of the swirling green flames and into the Hospital Wing seconds later, what he saw made that fear skyrocket. Albus and Poppy were standing on either side of one of the hospital beds with their wands pointed at the bed's occupant. Both were reciting a Resuscitation Charm in synchronized voices of barely controlled panic. After each incantation, the child's chest would compress unnaturally before arching up and then collapsing back to the mattress with a muffled thud, the small prone body yielding horribly to each invasive magicked maneuver.

Severus' legs moved without their owner's voluntary thought, driving him across the ward and closer to the dying child while his hand and gaze lowered to his satchel in search of the needed potion. His trembling fingers closed around the vial of Cardiac Stabilizing Draught just as he neared the bed, his eyes lifting at last. He gasped, nearly dropping the vial in shock when his gaze fell upon the too-still occupant of the bed...

The boy's vivid green eyes – so much like his mother's – remained hidden behind their lids and his distinctive wire-framed glasses – so very like his bullying father's – had been removed. But that familiar shock of unruly black hair and the even more recognizable jagged scar marring the sickly pale forehead left little doubt about their owner's identity.

_Potter!_

A fleeting and heart-rending image of a grief-stricken Lily flashed across Severus' mind. He felt his chest tighten with emotion and guilt, a ragged breath dying in his straining lungs.

_Oh God! Potter – Lily's son – is dying! NO!_

Terrified adrenaline plowing through him, Severus wrenched the cork from the mouth of the potion vial and lurched forward. Knowing the boy hadn't the ability to swallow, he raised his wand with his right hand after shifting the open vial to his left and voiced the incantation to spell the draught directly into Potter's bloodstream. It was a tricky procedure – one taught to him over a decade ago during a required healing class he took while studying for his Potions Mastery. He'd never had to perform it before, but thankfully, his memory for spell casting was exceptional and his technique even more so.

He dropped both the empty vial and his wand onto the mattress, his trembling fingers no longer able to grip them. Standing stock still beside the bed, he waited with bated breath along with Poppy and Albus, all three of them remaining silent, rendered mute and paralyzed in their shared anxiety. Severus kept his eyes glued on Poppy's hand which was placed on top of Potter's motionless chest and the static heart that lay within it, while his own heart hammered against his ribcage painfully.

After what felt like an eternity, Poppy gasped and her hand flew up to the boy's neck. Pressing her fingertips into his pulse point, she lowered her head so that her ear was barely an inch above Potter's parted lips.

"He's breathing again," she quavered, "and he has a pulse… but it's weak."

Raising her head, she turned toward Severus, eyes pleading, emanating a fear rarely seen from the normally calm and composed mediwitch. "Severus, we have no choice now. Harry's magic is out of control, he won't survive the night otherwise."

With a quick, jerking motion of her head, her gaze lowering, she gestured toward the potions satchel he had deposited onto the bed just a moment ago. Severus followed her gaze to the bag whose depths, he knew, still housed one more vial. Only then did his stricken and disoriented brain comprehend what her words had been referring to.

The Inhibiting Elixir.

So it had come to this. The Boy-Who-Lived would in fact, _not live_, unless his magic was ripped from him – magic that, for some reason, was bent on destroying its owner's body while in the process of waging war against some unseen Darkness invading it.

Time was of the essence right now, but there were a million questions running through Severus' mind. The most pressing of which was...

_What the bloody hell had happened to the boy?!_

Severus had just seen Potter earlier that evening. He and his two foolhardy cohorts, Weasley and Granger, were roaming the halls just after dinner while whispering animatedly to themselves. Severus had admonished them for their conspiratorial behavior, telling them they should return to their dormitory immediately lest someone infer that the three trouble-seeking Gryffindors were up to something. Now, Severus knew he was correct in that assumption; they _had_ been up to something. He also had a horrible suspicion as to what it was.

Was it possible they had gone after the Philosopher's Stone like they had done with the troll on Halloween? It seemed unlikely that any student could have deduced that the stone was being kept in the school, let alone become aware of the very well-guarded secret that it may actually have been in danger of being stolen. But Severus knew that the one weak link among those staff members entrusted with the stone's safety was also the one who spent the most social time with the three reckless first-years.

Yes, Hagrid could have easily let something slip to them about the stone.

From that bit of sussed knowledge, it would have only taken a small amount of research, a sliver of suspicion and a whole lot of Gryffindor brazenness to compel those idiotic children to take matters into their own hands. And Severus was well aware that Gryffindor courage knew no limits, not even under the threat of being eaten alive by a giant three-headed dog. But even that loathsome canine of Hagrid's could never be blamed for an incursion of Darkness so great as to trigger a wizard's magical defensive instinct to go into overdrive. Nor could any of the other five magical safeguards set up to ensure the stone's safe concealment. Even if the boy had guessed his own logic riddle incorrectly and had imbibed one of the wrong potions, he would only have been put into a magically induced coma, nothing more. That poem was meant as a deterrent to ward off a theft attempt, not as an actual harbinger of impending doom, whatever his literary mind had scripted to the contrary.

So what on earth had the boy encountered that had turned his magic rogue, prompting it to attack indiscriminately? It just didn't make sense!

"Severus, please!"

His questions would have to wait though. Potter's life was on the line. All that mattered now was the boy's survival. Poppy was right, of course. There simply was no other way.

With hands that shook even worse than before, Severus picked up his satchel, withdrew its remaining contents – a single glass vial filled with a pale green liquid – and handed it to Poppy. Having no desire to witness the administration of this particular potion, Severus looked away while Poppy began to mimic his earlier actions to spell the potion into the boy's bloodstream and instead, turned his gaze to the Headmaster.

Albus was staring at him, pinning him with a blazing look of deep contemplative scrutiny and rumination. The look itself was not that unusual. However, given the dire circumstances with which they were surrounded at present and considering said circumstances had very little whatsoever to do with himself, Severus found he was deeply disturbed by the seemingly out-of-place look, his heart starting to race.

That intense feeling of eerie disquiet surged to new heights when the Headmaster opened his mouth and breathed out an almost inaudible utterance in a shaky, quavering voice.

"Forgive me, Severus."

Brow furrowed in confusion and heart nearly beating out of his chest, Severus watched, feeling equal parts debilitating dread and mind-numbing bewilderment, as the elderly wizard turned abruptly toward Poppy and snatched the wand out of her hand just as she was about to administer the potion to Potter. He then seized the vial of Inhibiting Elixir from her other hand and replaced its stopper before placing it back into Severus' satchel.

"Albus, what–?" Poppy asked, her brown eyes wide with shock.

"No. We needn't destroy Harry's magic in order to save him," he explained, his voice much stronger now. He placed the mediwitch's wand back into her still open hand and then turned back toward Severus. "There is another way – a safer way."

His confusion deepening, Severus looked from Albus back to Poppy, hoping to see an expression of enlightened agreement within her eyes… or at least a glimmer of dawning comprehension. There was nothing there but bemusement, barely controlled impatience and panic.

"Albus, there is no other remedy to tame rogue magic and you know it. We have already attempted every known non-invasive method. This is the only option left to us!" she burst out, her voice once again taking on that shrill, panicked tone. "Give me that vial!"

"We haven't tried _Partem Amet_," he said to Poppy, though his eyes remained on Severus.

"_Partem_–_"_ Poppy echoed but then stopped before finishing her recitation. Her mouth was hanging open and her eyes were wider than Severus had ever seen them, pure shock and obvious frustration emanating off her in tangible waves. She snapped her mouth shut a second later, drew in a deep breath, no doubt as a means to induce a some measure of calm, and then spoke again.

"Headmaster, with all due respect, the idea of performing that spell on Harry, without the proper donor to cast it, is absolutely mad and completely irresponsible! I understand you wish to spare him from a life without magic, but be reasonable! A magical transfusion spell such as _Partem Amet,_ cast by anyone other than someone who shares his exact magical makeup such as a parent or a sibling – neither of whom exist in Harry's case – would be tantamount to a death sentence. It would kill him, Albus! So unless you can raise one of the boy's parents from the grave to cast this spell, I suggest you give that potion back to me this instant so that I may save my patient's life!"

Albus said nothing during the irate witch's rant. In fact, he did not even glance in her direction. His eyes remained fixed upon Severus', blue orbs staring at him with a mixture of profound sorrow and reluctant resignation. The intensity in that sorrowful gaze caused Severus' foreboding to multiply and his heart to leap into his constricting throat, the thundering beats almost choking him.

"Albus?" Severus croaked, voice trembling. "What–?"

His question still unfinished, Severus flinched at the feel of his own wand being placed back into his right hand, Albus' long, tapered fingers coaxing his own to close around its ebony handle by curling around the back of his hand, embracing it, squeezing it.

Severus felt his blood run cold as an inexorable anguish began to take hold of him. He felt weak and dizzy, his mind disoriented, panic and utter confusion warring deep inside him. He took his gaze away from the Headmaster's hands, still clasped around his own, and looked back up into those despairing blue eyes now laden with unshed tears. He tried once again to formulate a question, desperate to comprehend the reason for the debilitating heartache gnawing at his insides or the meaning behind the raw grief reflected in those aged eyes looking back at him, but for the first time in Severus' life, his voice failed him.

"Severus, _you_ must cast the spell… _Partem Amet_," Albus whispered, a lone tear sliding down his wrinkled cheek. "It can only be you. I'm sorry, my boy. I'm so… so very sorry."

**Chapter End - TBC**

**A/N:** FYI, I plan on updating this story every four to six weeks. I know, I know... most of you would prefer a faster turnaround than that. Trust me, I understand! But my life is just a bit too filled with other obligations for me to commit to quicker updates. Regardless, I do hope you'll stick around for the next chapter... which, by the way, is going to be very angsty and will include a whopper of a shocking surprise for our dear Potions Master... with a few perplexing details, too.

**Please review.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Forsaken Scion**

**Chapter Two - Precisely Your Eyes**

"No! No, I-I'm not... Potter's not... he's n-not my..."

Severus snapped his mouth shut, horrified at hearing his voice sounding so broken and stammered. It was a sure sign that his tried and true composure – that well-worn mask of calm indifference he relied upon day in and day out – had abandoned him. His panic was now exposed, spiraling emotions laid bare for all to see.

The rational part of his mind reared up against such a blatant display of vulnerability, rejecting it as though it were a virus. His efforts to fight it however, only succeeded in provoking an internal war, his mind and emotions seemingly engaged in a fierce battle that caused his heart to pound in frantic palpitations and the back of his skull to throb with a droning, pulsing ache. He tried to speak again, but each attempt yielded only weak and shaky words of nonsense, spilling from his trembling lips. Each one of those incoherent words hinted at the presence of something much more distressing than panic or exposed emotions, and even in his panic-stricken state, Severus knew very well what that something was.

Doubt.

Bitter cold tendrils of doubt – inexplicable, yet deeply-rooted and intuitive – were now snaking their way around his heart, joining the internal fray already waging war inside him. It was seizing him, churning and roiling in his gut, constricting his chest and burning his insides like the searing touch of dry ice on raw flesh.

Despite the presence of this doubt, or maybe _because_ of it, Severus knew he must continue to argue against Albus' inane presumption. He had to make his mentor – and perhaps himself, as well – see the error of it, the absolute _absurdity_ of it. And in order to accomplish that, he desperately needed to gain control of his runaway emotions.

Taking a slow, steady draw of air into his lungs, Severus willed himself to adapt some measure of self-control, clamping down hard on his anxiety and doubt. He buried them behind his mental shields, deep within the furthest recesses of his sheltered mind.

When he spoke again, the tremor in his voice was all but gone, his words now taking on a stronger, surer tone.

"I was _never_ intimate with Lily. You _know_ this, Albus. You're confused; Potter's accident has somehow confounded your normally rational mind. You're simply mistaken."

Releasing an encumbered sigh, the Headmaster lowered his head, shaking it slowly from side to side as he responded. "I am not mistaken, Severus. Harry is your son."

"But he cannot be!" Severus raged, voice rising in volume now, mirroring the sudden spike in his reemerging panic. So much for his attempt at control. "He cannot _possibly_ be! I told you... Lily and I were never together!"

This time, the Headmaster did not refute him, but those blue eyes once again took on that look of deep despair and regret as they locked with his, their penetrative gaze reaching deeper than was necessary, extending far past his own panicked eyes and into the secluded sanctuaries of the distracted mind beyond.

Before Severus could even think to call forth his Occlumency shields in defense of the sudden intrusion, a memory, unfamiliar in both content and sensation, shimmered into being at the forefront of his mind...

_Lily Potter held herself stiffly as she sat hunched forward in an antique rocking chair. Her long crimson hair framed her face, keeping it partially hidden from view. Nevertheless, a small, sad smile could still be seen curving her lips as she gazed down upon a swaddled newborn held in the crook of her arm. While she carded her fingers repeatedly through the child's tuft of messy black hair, a look of melancholy soon emanated from her tearful green eyes and that tentative smile fell, morphing into an anguished frown._

_"Oh, Severus," she whispered shakily, "I wish you could see him. He's so beautiful. And his eyes..."_

_She withdrew her hand from the baby's wild locks to run a gentle thumb across a barely-there eyebrow, the action causing sleepy eyes to blink open – eyes the color of night's own shadows, deeper and darker than a raven's wing. _

_"He has your eyes, love," she breathed out, a strangled sob reflected in her quavering voice, "precisely your eyes."_

_A lone tear escaped a sea of glistening jade to slide down one delicate cheek as Lily suddenly turned away from the bundle cradled in her arm. Withdrawing her caressing hand from the infant, she placed it instead on top of another's. Her petite fingers closed around long, slender ones whose owner's pale face remained unresponsive and unaware of her loving touch. His body seemed to be locked in an eerie state of nihility, lying prostrate and motionless in a bed beside her. His dark eyes – mirror images of the tiny child's – were open, yet insentient, staring lifelessly ahead at nothing. They were empty and devoid._

_Perished._

_Hollow._

_"I'll take good care of him for you, Sev. I promise," she choked out, her breath hitching as more tears fell from wounded emerald eyes. "I promise to always keep your son safe. No matter what."_

Severus clamped his eyes shut as Albus withdrew from his mind, the memory forced into it seconds ago fading away like the evanescent flicker from a wind-blown flame – its absence leaving nothing but dark, shadowy dread and horrid implication in its wake. Swaying where he stood, Severus gritted his teeth as a debilitating wave of vertigo and nausea suddenly barreled through him with breath-stealing intensity. His every exhalation came out unnaturally fast and a crushing tightness in his chest was making it almost impossible to take in more air. The fingers of his right hand tightened around his wand reflexively, while those of his left began to fist the material of his robes at his stomach, squeezing hard as if the intensity of his grip could somehow magic some kind of sanity back into being, renew his previous sense of clarity and logic and vanquish this burgeoning devastation seeping into his aching heart.

His efforts were futile and he felt himself lose his remaining vestiges of balance and control, the Hospital Wing spinning faster around him. Its neat rows of stark white beds situated below high vaulted windows blurred and dimmed, coalescing into swirling streaks of grey, black and midnight blue. He tipped forward, his focus clouding further before shaky legs folded beneath him.

Expecting the next unpleasant sensation to be his knees striking the stone floor, Severus was surprised to find himself enveloped by the Headmaster's willowy arms, their grip strong and sure as they held him close against a warm chest before lowering him down to sit upon a soft surface. He let himself be maneuvered, body compliant and hands still full of bunched up fabric and hardened ebony. Even as his body sunk into what could only be one of Poppy's ready-made hospital beds, his fists continued to tremble and clench with bruising force. Eyes still squeezed shut, he felt – rather than saw – a gentle hand placed on the side of his face, fingertips burrowing within the lank strands of his hair while the tenuous touch of a caressing thumb swept a slow path across his cheekbone, spreading a warm wetness along his skin.

It was only then that Severus realized he was crying.

"My dear boy," came a whispered lament, a shattered, broken shell of voice and anguish, "I am so... so very sorry. I never wanted you to find out this way... I..."

"Albus–?"

Poppy's shocked and disbelieving voice as she breathed out the Headmaster's name was somehow more disturbing to Severus than his mentor's stammered, despairing one. The sound of it shook Severus to his very core, adding a new layer of sharpened, pain-filled surreality to the chimeric delusion swiftly overtaking him. Using every ounce of strength he possessed to push aside his escalating terror in order to regain control of himself – physically, at least – he blinked open his resistant eyelids and peered at his two colleagues through the blurred haze of his own inexorable tears.

They were staring at him, ghostly pale faces twisted into twin expressions of deep concern.

Grief-stricken blue eyes turned away from Severus then to meet Poppy's brown ones, though their owner's hand remained on Severus' cheek, the aged fingers trembling slightly.

"Poppy, could you retrieve a Calming Draught for Severus please?"

"A Calming... yes," she said, exhaling sharply. "Yes, of course. What was I thinking…"

Poppy seemed to come back to herself then, abruptly shaking off her uncharacteristic hesitation and momentary flustered state as she raised her wand and summoned the requested draught from her store room.

Severus didn't hesitate when the cool tempered glass vial was pressed against his lips, the familiarity of the sensation soothing him almost more than the draught itself. Drinking greedily, he drained it in one gulp and then breathed out a shaky breath as he felt his muscles begin to loosen, magicked warmth permeating his entire body. Another tremulous breath was drawn in and released before Severus finally allowed his gaze to lift, reluctant dark orbs locking once more with a sea of restless blue.

The elderly wizard's eyes were swimming with pain and regret, just as they had been throughout the last few agonizing minutes, but there was something else lingering within them now. Something much more intense and a hell of a lot more disconcerting – truth.

Albus, for all his brilliant moments of selective disclosure, secretive misdirection and borderline manipulation, could never quite quell his one irrevocable tell. It wasn't a tell that just anyone would notice. No, only one with a trained eye – or a skilled Occlumens adept at hiding one's emotions as well as the truth – would be observant enough to notice it.

Someone like Severus Snape. He had always known that whenever the Headmaster spoke of half-truths and partial facts, only a glimmer of emotion made its way to the surface of those twinkling blue orbs. But if they ever sparkled with strong emotion – intense, soul-deep, heartfelt emotion that seemed to come from the very core of the older wizard's being – then the words escaping the man's heavily lined lips were not colored with exaggeration, assumption or falsification; they were the truth. Unequivocal, indisputable, undeniable truth. And right now, those aged eyes were so filled with emotion that Severus felt his heart skip several beats, his breathing becoming tight and shallow again, despite the Calming Draught he'd just ingested.

"But Albus," he whispered pleadingly, his voice cracking again, "that vision... that... that memory you showed me... it-it _has_ to be a mistake. It must be some kind of fabrication. The baby... it could not _possibly_ have been Potter. His eyes, Albus – his eyes were black..."

"I will explain it all to you, my boy. I give you my word," Albus assured him, "but right now, I must ask for your strength. For your perseverance. You must push past your current confusion and panic – just for a little while. The spell, Severus. _Partem Amet_. I need you to cast it _now;_ it's the only way to save your son."

The aged hand that had been resting lightly upon his tear-dampened cheek withdrew, lowering to his hand which still held his wand with vice-like strength. The older wizard's fingers once again curled around his clenching ones, squeezing them to soothe their tremors.

"Please, Severus," he whispered. "It can only be you."

In the next second, the world seemed to tilt and sway in a whoosh of dizzying motion as he was hauled upright onto wobbly legs and unsure feet. Blinking away the vestiges of his cooling tears, Severus breathed deeply, shakily, leaning precariously against Albus who was now guiding him toward the next bed... Potter's bed... his son's bed.

His son.

Confronted once more with the image of the sickly, wan skin and listless features of the unconscious Boy-Who-Lived, Severus felt a mass of pain and anguish sink razor-sharp claws into the soft flesh of his throat. It was agony – like a searing deadened sob denied release or a primal cry silenced by grief... by deceit... by fury.

His son? _His_ son? But how?! _How could this be?! _

"Lily..." he murmured, though his lips remained still. Only the warm brush of misplaced breath and the whisper of internal thought gave evidence to the nearly silent utterance. "How?"

"Severus?"

Poppy's hesitant voice brought his mind back to the two anxious souls standing on either side of him. He blinked again, vehemently denying the re-emergent sting at the corners of his eyes, and turned toward the mediwitch.

"Do you know how to cast the magical transfusion spell?" she asked in a soft tone. It sounded so unlike her usual pragmatic one, Severus actually had to repeat her words inside his own mind in order to convince himself that they had in fact been spoken by her.

"I–I... no. I've never..."

Suppressing a soul-deep shudder, Severus swallowed past the embedded despair slicing up his throat and closed his eyes. He sucked in a cool, breath of static castle air and then opened burning ebony eyes once more, meeting her questioning gaze.

"No," he repeated, releasing his held breath. "Show me?"

Nodding clinically, her brow creased with resolve, Poppy reached out to him and grasped his left hand, guiding it toward the small form lying on the bed beneath them. After maneuvering his hand to rest, palm down, upon the boy's bare chest, she lifted her gaze to meet his own.

"There is no wand movement needed," she explained. Again her voice was soft and meager, barely-restrained emotion obscuring its normal sureness. She cleared her throat and exhaled harshly before continuing in a firmer tone.

"Simply place the tip of your wand to a bare patch of his skin – the side of his neck will do – while your other hand remains where I've placed it, in close proximity with his heart and magical core."

Severus looked down at the boy's small chest, at his own fingers splayed out on the pale, clammy skin. Another rush of fear gripped him and he felt his throat constrict with it, that clawing, slicing lump of anxiety and confusion roaring to life once more. He swallowed hard – wincing at the aftershocks of nausea the action caused – and then returned his gaze to the mediwitch, nodding for her to continue.

"When you're ready, recite the Latin incantation – _Partem Amet._ After doing so, your magic will flare and pulse within you. It may be a bit uncomfortable, but don't fight it, Severus. This means that your magic is trying to establish a connection with Harry, reaching out to his feral magic so that it may be tempered and replenished. Once that connection is established you will begin to feel Harry's magic merging with your own. As long as your magic is indeed a familial match to his, it should take only seconds for his magic to be placated by your own. However, if it is not a match..."

She paused in her instruction and shot a look at the Headmaster, her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed and hardened, blazing with warning as they pierced the older man. A moment of strained, heavy silence followed, the tension almost palpable, and then she snapped her attention back to Severus, whispering her next instruction in hurried, anxious tones.

"If at any time after the merging you feel real physical pain... like an intense burning in your chest or head... pull back immediately. You mustn't maintain the connection if–"

"Poppy," Albus interrupted, placing a hand on her shoulder. Whether the gesture was made as an offering of reassurance or as a warning meant to compel her toward reticence, Severus was unsure, but it resulted in the latter. The anxious mediwitch locked gazes once more with Albus, breathed out a sharp breath through her nose, her lips pursed into a tight line again before she turned away from him abruptly, looking reluctant and very uneasy, but acquiescent nevertheless.

Bringing her focus back to Severus, she nodded, a stiff and abrupt jerk of her head that was meant to prod him into action.

It worked.

Severus raised his wand abruptly and lowered it into position beside the boy's prone form, sliding its ebony tip in place between a clump of messy, raven hair and the ashen skin making up the meager neck beside it. The movement seemed to happen without his conscious thought, as if his body had assumed full control over his mobility, all voluntary thought dissolving away. Gone was the fierce emotional chaos and panic that had been plaguing him just a few short moments ago, replaced by a swift, all-body numbness. His fierce trembling and shallow, shaky breaths had abated too, tempered by a strange sort of instinctual calm rising within him. It was a calm that seemed to be inspired by an almost supernatural determination to do what must be done, to persevere above all else.

Perhaps he was simply in shock, or perhaps it was a primal compulsion borne of desperation and urgency that was taking over where logic and wary deliberation had failed. The thinking, rational part of his brain, along with his usually so well-hidden emotions were both still screaming in tandem deep inside him for answers, begging for sense to be made out of this madness, for clarity to materialize from this array of falsified truth and jumbled deception, but none of that mattered now.

As he stood hunched over this very sick child on the bed, Severus pushed what remained of his need for answers further inside himself, burying it, allowing his instincts full reign. The only thing that mattered at this moment was this boy whose life hung in the balance, precarious and uncertain, this boy whose heart was now pounding a weak and erratic rhythm against the palm of his hand… a pleading cadence for help that could only be given by him.

Only him.

Only his father.

_Dear God... give me strength..._

A hand on his shoulder saved him from slipping back into that whirlwind of dizzying despair lingering just below his fragile composure, its gentle squeeze compelling his focus onward, outward. His eyes, which had fallen shut sometime between Poppy's succinct nod of encouragement and his own introspective thoughts, opened once more. Bleary, dark eyes locked onto the sight of those aged fingers curled around his shoulder for half a breath and then looked away, lowering.

"Severus?"

Albus' questioning tone was barely a whisper. Just a wisp of breath, laced with fear and hope, uttered in the tiniest thread of voice.

The sound of it caused a new twinge of pain to pierce Severus' heart, but he acknowledged its intent with a tense nod and a strained exhalation, throat tight but voice ready and gathering strength, waiting in anticipation of what was to come. Licking his lips nervously, Severus breathed in one more time, letting it out slowly as he closed his eyes yet again, trying to center himself.

When he opened them once more, he lowered his gaze to the boy's face, focusing on the closed lids beneath which brilliant green eyes lay dormant and unseeing. Yes, he could do this. He _would_ do this.

Severus let his eyes close one last time while he concentrated on his own magical strength and energy. All at once, a sweeping warmth washed over him, his gathering magic intensifying and flaring inside his core, setting his nerves alight. Squeezing his eyes more tightly together to sharpen his focus, Severus flinched when an image materialized within his mind's eye for the second time in a matter of minutes – innocent, soulful eyes surrounded by long, dark lashes beneath a mop of rumpled, baby-fine hair. And though they were not the familiar pools of emerald associated with the child so dependent upon him at this very moment, they _were_ somehow… one and the same.

It was then that Severus knew – knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, beyond logic and reason and structured rationality, beyond any amount of well-purposed evidence to the contrary. He knew...

This boy _was_ his.

He could feel it in the way his magic pulsed eagerly, almost desperately within him, reaching outward, yearning to heal, to fix, to soothe. He could sense it in the way his own heart felt as though it might explode with grief at any moment, a grief that seemed to have inexplicably and all at once come from nowhere and yet everywhere, gnawing at his soul like a fatal, bleeding wound.

_His_ boy. _His_ son.

No longer caring about how such a thing could be, disregarding completely the sheer incredulity of it – at least for now – Severus tightened his metaphoric grip on his pulsing magic, holding it firm, focusing all his energy on saving the boy – _his boy!_ – and then released it, his trembling lips imparting an urgent plea in flawlessly recited Latin...

_"Partem Amet."_

Despite his quiet tone, those two words echoed throughout the tension-filled ward, its eerie reverb competing with the thunderous metered lashing of his own heart against his ribcage. Once more, a flash of black blazed like shadowed lightening across the periphery of Severus' mind... a third image...

_...ebony eyes gazing up into tearful green ones... a despairing, anguished voice promising safety... safety that another could not provide..._

Yes.

This boy – _Harry_ – was his son.

**Chapter End - TBC**

**A/N:** Thanks to Yen for once again taking some time out of her busy, busy schedule to Beta this chapter! I truly appreciate it!

Look for the next chapter to be posted hopefully before the end of June. ;)

**Please review.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Forsaken Scion**

**Chapter Three - Poppy's Quandary**

Only seconds after the vision of Lily holding a dark-eyed infant faded from the forefront of Severus' mind – the ghost of the whispered magical transfusion spell still on his lips – he was struck anew by an odd sensation. It was as though he were trapped within a sliver of suspended time. The very air surrounding him suddenly felt inert and thick, like static ether tethered to an altered reality.

Squeezing his eyelids more tightly together, he inhaled sharply, holding the breath deep in his lungs until it burned. The action seemed to parallel the eerie inertia encasing him, his motionless state like a surrender to the potent anticipation pressing in on him from all sides, detaining him in a kind of tangible suspense.

In contrast to the stillness all around him, Severus' brain was a flurry of upending, divergent motion. Anxious and fearful thoughts churned and swirled within him, pulsing a nonsensical, chaotic rhythm not unlike the erratic thundering of his heartbeat... or his flaring magic now beginning to break through the layers of constricting time and space, pushing outward in search of connection with another's.

Without warning, Severus experienced an unexpected jolt and tug to his foraging magic. A split second later, that odd sensation of sluggish time seemed to dissipate, the normal momentum of things suddenly restored in what felt like a hard lurch forward. The abrupt change caused a fresh wave of panic to flood Severus, his thoughts snapping back to Poppy's dire warning and her obvious uncertainty regarding his familial relationship with Harry.

Terrified that this had all been some tragic misunderstanding – the memory, Albus' assertion of his paternity, as well as his own belief in that assertion – Severus hastened to call his magic back. He halted his efforts almost immediately however, when out of nowhere, a comforting warmth washed over him, immersing him in rippling waves of benevolent energy that seemed to blanket his soul with an ethereal sense of familiarity.

At that moment, Severus was certain that even if Albus had not forced that memory into his mind... or if Poppy had somehow neglected to explain the inner-workings of this spell to him before he cast it... he _still_ would have understood the significance of what was currently happening. There was just no mistaking what he was feeling now. This warm, insistent energy – clinging to and wrapping around his own magic in desperation – was, without a doubt, the damaged magic of someone who could only be his own flesh and blood.

It was like catching an elusive glimpse inside his own soul, yet bizarrely, it was _also_ like experiencing it through another's eyes. The images and sensations surrounding Severus felt as if they were his own, but so colored were they by innocence and naiveté, by so much trust and guileless yearning, they could only have come from the soul of a child.

Despite the difference in perspective, the raw energy pulsing from Harry in such forceful, urgent waves – waves of pure emotion and wild magic that were now tenaciously merging with his own magic – felt so much _more_ than familiar; they were like perfect replicas of Severus' own well-guarded emotions, mirrored echoes of the same long-held fear and hurt and longing forged from disillusion... from shattered hopes... from loneliness. And as Harry's magic continued to meld with Severus', wrapping tighter and tighter coils around it, seeking guidance and direction, Severus felt himself let go completely, surrendering the last of his magical reserves and energy to this child – _his_ child.

Just when the grip on Severus' magic neared the point of discomfort, he was released from it, the boy's rogue magic loosening its needy grasp as it calmed down and leveled out. Wisps of sated energy retracted back into Harry's core in a slow, steady recession, lazily retreating like ebbing waves sliding back into a tranquil ocean.

Once fully released from his son's receding magic, Severus felt the world tilt and his body give, his legs buckling from the sudden exhaustion overtaking him. Just like last time however, the stone floor was denied his collapse. Albus' arms were around him in a flash. He held Severus upright while leading him to the same bed he had occupied earlier, laying him carefully down upon it.

"Poppy, I think Severus should be given a sleeping draught for the remainder of the night. Dreamless Sleep, perhaps?" Albus suggested as he closed one hand over Severus' clenched right fist, easing his fingers open with gentle persuasion and removing the wand held within their tight grasp.

At its removal, Severus' eyelids lifted and he watched through rapidly blinking eyes, the bleary image of what looked to be Albus placing his wand on the small table alongside the bed. He squinted then, trying to focus on the hazy contour of his mentor, but his vision was becoming even more clouded, hedged by a ring of darkening shadow.

"Albus," Severus croaked in a voice both weak and raspy, "will the boy... will he be all right?"

Not waiting for a response, Severus turned away from the Headmaster, twisting his bone-weary body around in the bed so that he could better see his son in the next bed. The abrupt movement only succeeded in causing his limbs to erupt into violent tremors, his arms and legs trembling against the sheets Albus must have covered him with at some point.

"Severus Snape, don't you dare get up from that bed! Lay back down this instant!" came Poppy's shrill reprimand.

The return of her usual sharp tone was somehow welcoming after the last few minutes of stressful surreality and Severus breathed out a sigh of relief, taking comfort in her brusque scolding. He knew the mediwitch long enough to know that if the boy were still in danger, scolding an uncooperative patient would be the last thing she would waste her time with.

Seconds later, Severus heard Poppy utter another summoning charm. Her incantation was soon followed by the familiar sensation of a potion vial being pressed firmly to the seam of his lips while a long arm – probably Albus' – slid around his back, coaxing him to sit more upright. The glass vial was then tilted forward, persuading its cool, bitter contents to enter his parted lips. Severus swallowed obediently and at once felt his body relax, the potent draught already beginning to have its way with him.

After the vial was withdrawn and Severus' head guided back down onto the pillow, the gentle touch of aged fingers closed around his own again, clasping his hand and squeezing with slight pressure.

"You did well, my boy," Albus said, the softly spoken words edged with something like pride, uttered in a tone more fatherly than Severus could ever remember hearing from the elderly wizard. "Sleep now. We will speak on these pressing matters tomorrow. For now, take comfort in knowing that your son is out of danger, thanks to you."

Severus struggled to stay awake, his dwindling strength focused completely on fighting the efficacious potion – no doubt brewed by his own hand. He wrenched open his heavy, resistant eyelids and peered up at the haze of blurred grey and silver in front of him. While trying hard to keep his focus on the two nebulous flecks of cerulean in the center of that blur, he used every ounce of his remaining cognizance to formulate the question he desperately needed an answer to. It was a question that could not wait til morning to be answered... one that at this very moment seemed even more urgent than the mystery surrounding his paternity... and it was fueled by an almost debilitating fear twisting his heart.

"What happened tonight, Albus?" he breathed out shakily. "What happened to m-my son? He must've encountered something Dark for his magic to have–"

"Severus," the Headmaster interrupted, giving his hand a sharp squeeze to discourage further speech. "I promise to explain the night's ill-fated events to you, as well as the truth of Harry's parentage, but only after you've rested. Your magic has been depleted, my boy. You and Harry are both in desperate need of sleep in order for your levels to be replenished and strengthened. But you have my word, Severus – we will speak of this in the morning."

Severus tried to argue, furious at Albus for brushing his fears aside, but he found himself unable to muster the strength to voice a contention. He felt numb and impossibly weak, his limbs too heavy to even move. The dark ring edging his vision had dilated fully now, swallowing up the blurs of silver and pale blue lighting his flawed vision and his head had begun to feel thick, his thoughts muddled. Another few seconds and those muddled thoughts seemed to break apart and drift away, his mind steeped in the blissful void of dreamless slumber at last.

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Try as he might, Severus could not seem to fully awaken, his mind and body much more sluggish and resistant to rouse this morning than usual. He would almost swear it was the dead of night – what with his uncharacteristic lethargy and disarranged mind – if it weren't for the telltale signs of morning begging him to rise. The eager rays of first light were warm against his face and there was a faint aroma of English breakfast tea permeating the air.

It was all very puzzling to his semi-conscious mind though – the idea that morning light could even reach his windowless dungeon bedroom or that there would ever be someone willing to serve him his favorite brewed beverage in bed.

No – that was ludicrous.

But that could only mean...

_I'm not in my bedroom. Am I even in the dungeon?_

His confusion growing, Severus screwed his face up in a grimace, squeezing his closed eyelids more firmly together and scrunching up his nose, trying to snap himself out of his torpid state. He exhaled deeply and swallowed, wetting his dry lips and swallowing once more. The action prompted him to pull yet another sour face when a trace of bitterness bit at his discerning tongue.

_Valerian root and lavender? What in Merlin's name–? I don't recall taking Dreamless Sleep!_

And then... like a bludger to the head – abrupt and exquisitely painful... he remembered.

He remembered his bewilderment over the Headmaster's urgent request for potions in the middle of the night, his alarm at seeing the gravely ill Boy-Who-Lived lying pale and motionless in a Hospital Wing bed and then he recalled the shock – the absolute soul-wrenching shock – at learning that _he_ was actually the boy's biological father when he knew he had never once been intimate with Lily Potter.

Severus took only a few heart-racing, mind-numbing seconds to turn these memories over in his whirling mind before another one joined them – the memory of him successfully casting _Partem Amet_ on the boy and saving him from his own magic turned rogue.

Drawing in several slow, shaky breaths, Severus let the events of last night take firmer root in his slowly waking consciousness, allowing his re-emerging panic time to settle down as he tightened his grasp on reality, shaking off the last vestiges of sleep. When at last he felt himself lucid enough to comprehend all that had occurred in the Hospital Wing last night, his panic ebbing slightly and his mind returning to a semblance of order, he took another fortifying breath while he turned his focus on that one miraculous spell.

And what it meant.

The simple fact that the magical transfusion spell had actually worked with himself as caster was proof positive of his parentage to the boy. In fact, it was perhaps _more_ conclusive than any paternity potion since the spell's governing magic did not allow for shades of grey or questionable maybes. No, _Partem Amet_ would have killed Harry if the two of them had been any less than direct relations. However, if truth be told, it wasn't the success of the spell last night that had swayed Severus toward believing this shocking turn of events. It was Lily – or rather that _memory_ of Lily that Albus had so gracelessly shoved into his mind – that had started him on the path of acknowledgement and acceptance.

In his heart, Severus knew that the images in that memory were real. Lily would never lie to him. She just wasn't capable of cruel deception or mean-spirited trickery, regardless of the painful finality of their falling out all those years ago at Hogwarts. She simply did not have it in her to be so callous as to stage a false scene like that.

No. That memory was real. Severus was sure of it.

Now he just had to figure out _how_ it could be real when he certainly had no memory of an injury so grave as to reduce him to the catatonic state he was in that memory nor did he recognize the room in which the memory played out. It wasn't his bedroom in Spinner's End and it didn't resemble any of the rooms he'd seen in Lily's parents' home either.

An _Obliviate_ was used on him – that much was obvious. Perhaps several. And whomever cast them would have had to be quite powerful and very skilled to have succeeded in wiping such significant events from his mind. Severus knew of only one wizard competent enough in the mind arts to accomplish a feat that intricate and it was the very same who had promised him answers this morning.

"Ah, Severus. You're up. I was just coming to check on you. How are you feeling?"

Severus turned, eyeing a very weary-looking Poppy Pomfrey standing just beside his bed. He glanced down, a bit nonplussed to find he was sitting up with his eyes open. He had no recollection of doing either, but then again his thoughts had been elsewhere.

Just as the truth of this idea struck him, a cold wave of dread usurped it, blocking out all other thoughts. Suddenly feeling yet another return to last night's blind panic, Severus wrenched his head back, his hands gripping the edge of the sheet covering him as he twisted his body so as to see around Poppy, desperate to catch a glimpse of the other occupied bed. Unable to do so, he swung his legs from under the sheets.

"Sev– Severus!" Poppy scolded, the pitch of her voice climbing as she tried to grab his arm to stop his departure from the bed. "For Merlin's sake, Severus! Stop flailing about!"

Before the mediwitch's words could even penetrate his panicked mind, Severus felt his backside strike the frigid stone floor, his legs swiftly following, entwined within a mass of twisted bed sheets. Alarmed and confused, his chest heaving with adrenaline, he wrested his limbs away from the confining linens only to feel both of his wrists suddenly held captive, gripped tightly within Poppy's surprisingly strong grasp. Snapping his head up and around to once more try and catch a glimpse of Harry's bed, he gave a frustrated grunt when again his view was blocked. He could see nothing but the very stern face of Poppy Pomfrey as she bent over him, penetrating brown eyes locking with his own.

"Severus. Listen to me – he's fine," she said. Her tone held its usual firmness, demanding his attention, yet her words seemed to be softened with understanding, empathetic. "Harry is stable. He's still unconscious, but I expected as much after his ordeal. I assure you, Severus, he will wake within the next day or two and when he does, he will be perfectly healthy."

Severus lowered his head and released an audible sigh, his panicked state lessening as the truth of Poppy's words sunk in. He nodded and then swallowed thickly, wincing at the burning feeling the action caused. There seemed to be a lump of anxiety lodged in his throat that refused to go away.

Poppy loosened her tight grip on his wrists, but kept them in place as she aided him in standing upright and coaxed him back into bed.

It was only then that Severus thought to regard his physical state of dress... or undress, rather. A faint blush warmed his cheeks and neck upon realizing he was clad only in a thin hospital gown. Surely the mediwitch had used a Switching spell to alter his attire, but he found it embarrassing all the same, after so many years of solid independence.

When he was once again sitting properly on the bed, pillows fluffed and braced behind his shoulders and his legs covered by smoothed over sheets, Poppy removed a potion vial from the pocket of her robes and handed it to him.

"A restorative," she said by way of explanation. "You're to take one twice daily for the rest of the week. I'm sure you realize how much that spell drained your magic, Severus, so no excessive spellwork this week either. Anything beyond an _Accio_ or an _Evanesco_ could put you right back on your arse. Do I make myself clear?"

Severus drank the restorative draught and handed the empty vial back, giving Poppy a stiff nod of acquiescence in answer to her strict instructions. When at last she left his bedside, turning and walking at a brisk pace toward her office at the back of the ward, he was finally afforded a clear view of the next bed and the unconscious form of his son.

And there it was again, though not quite as severe. Panic. Fear. Anxiety. It was irrational, really. Poppy had just assured him that Harry would make a full recovery – that his son's health would be unaffected. Why then, did he feel so helpless, lost in a sea of uncertainty and dread? Why was the damned lump back in his throat? Why–?

"Here. This will settle your nerves."

Poppy was back, arm outstretched, a cup of Ahmad breakfast tea in hand.

"Thank you," Severus replied quietly. Wrapping both hands around the warm porcelain, he brought the lip up to his mouth and blew across the steaming surface of its contents once before taking a sip. He let his eyes close as the liquid slid down his throat, feeling its warmth begin to soothe him, an unnoticed tension in his neck and back muscles loosening.

When next he opened his eyes, it was to see Poppy dragging one of the visitor chairs closer to him. She sat down a moment later and placed her hands in her lap, her gaze fixed on her own fingers as they clasped together. She cleared her throat softly and then looked up, engaging Severus in a charged look.

Severus was sure he was about to be assailed with a slew of heated questions about how it could possibly be that _he_ had fathered Lily's child and not her husband, James Potter. He braced himself, imagining he was only seconds away from hearing Poppy accuse him of coercing Lily into infidelity or worse... committing a sexual act of dubious consent... but when at last she spoke, her words were not at all what he had expected to hear.

"Harry was three weeks old the first time I remember seeing him."

She stopped speaking then, but her eyes never left his. It was unnerving – both the abrupt pause in her narrative as well as the silence that followed it – but not nearly as much as the grave look she was giving him. It was potent enough to raise the hairs on the back of his neck, his skin prickling with discomfort. It was almost as if she was expecting him to offer some sort of response to her odd statement, but what it should be, Severus had no idea. Eager to put an end to the distressing void, he posed his reply in the form of a question, hoping it would inspire some type of elaboration on her part. He knew Albus promised him answers, but if Poppy saw his son while he was still just an infant, perhaps she could tell him something first?

Looking away from Poppy's earnest gaze for moment, he took another sip of his tea before lowering it to his lap again and asking, "What color were his eyes?"

His eyes snapped back up then to catch her reaction.

Poppy's unnerving gaze faltered for a second, brown eyes narrowing in obvious bewilderment.

"Green, of course. Severus..."

She stopped speaking again and looked away from him, shaking her head, seemingly trying to refocus herself. It was obvious she was not expecting his question.

"Severus, I... you're–you're not understanding what I'm trying to say." She swallowed audibly, then continued. "I was Lily's mediwitch, even after school. She came to me for a complete check-up only a week before she and James wed, telling me that they were hoping to start a family straightaway. Of course, this was not uncommon during the first war. I'm sure you recall how eager young Wizarding society was at that time, rushing in to starting a family – terrified they may not get a chance in the future with our world in such peril."

Severus furrowed his brow, his eyes narrowing as he struggled to comprehend the relevance in her words to the matter at hand.

"I fail to see where you're going with this, Poppy. I know the boy's birthday – everyone in the Wizarding world does. And I can count back just as sure as anyone. Lily was married in August. It makes perfect sense that Harry would be born just shy of a year later if it were truly Lily's desire to start a family early, as you say. Nothing about that seems... unusual... or even hints at how it came to be that I am the boy's father."

Poppy pursed her lips together until they were white, breathing hard out through her nose. She fixed him that look again, before speaking once more.

"What is unusual, Severus, is that not two months after her wedding, she came back to see me requesting a birth control potion. A year's worth. And quite frankly, she was not the same carefree woman I had come to know. She was on edge and looked pale and haggard, as though she hadn't slept in weeks. I was concerned, but I... well, I figured perhaps she had encountered some minor marital problems. I hoped that if there was anything seriously wrong she would come to me, but–"

"Wait," Severus interrupted her, trying to process her words. "She asked you to prescribe her a birth control potion? And this was in October – two months after her wedding?"

"Yes."

Severus didn't understand. Lily was married in early August, if he recalled correctly. Harry was born at the end of July, which means the boy must have been conceived in October. But this was around the same time Poppy gave her the infertility potion. As long as Lily took that potion properly, there's no way she could have gotten pregnant.

"She must not have taken the potion then or perhaps she skipped a dose or two," Severus said, more to himself than to Poppy. "Or she must have changed her mind – decided against taking it after all."

"No – I don't think so, Severus. She seemed so desperate for it. I would even say she was fearful at the thought of _not_ having it. And then there's the fact that I did not see Lily until August the following year. Out of the blue, Albus told me that Lily had given birth three weeks prior and that she wanted me to check the baby over, give him a proper exam. Well, I was shocked to say the least, especially after recalling the last conversation I had with Lily and her anxious – almost panicked – demeanor as she requested that I prescribe her a birth control potion. It just made no sense to me. Nevertheless, I agreed to examine her newborn son. Of course by then, Lily and James were in hiding. Only a select few knew they were holed up in a cottage in Godric's Hollow. I was honestly shocked that Albus allowed me entry past its wards."

"And you examined Harry? At Godric's Hollow?" Severus repeated. He was just as confused as Poppy was about why Lily would chose to have a child when her actions seemed to indicate a desire not to have one, but his stubborn mind refused to let go of his original question, insisting that it be answered to his satisfaction before newer queries could bury it once again. "But his eyes... Poppy, are you sure they were green?"

"Yes, they were green, Severus! Well, greenish-blue, really. Most babies that age have a bit of a blueish tint to their eyes before their dominant color becomes prominent. But you are missing my point!" She huffed out, clearly agitated now. "I was her healer, Severus. But I did not see her, professionally or otherwise for the whole nine months she was supposed to have been with child!"

Severus felt himself relax a little, certain that Poppy was missing the obvious here and blowing this particular detail out of proportion.

"Poppy, she must have seen another healer – someone at St. Mungo's, perhaps. Or maybe Potter convinced her to start seeing his own family healer. Certainly her not coming to you for maternity care is not cause for alarm seeing as how uncertain things were at that time."

With another huff, Poppy shot up from her chair, whipping out her wand from her robe pocket and raising it.

_"Accio Harry Potter's medical file!"_

A plain manilla folder zoomed into view and was swiftly snatched up by Poppy's awaiting hand. She opened the thin sleeve and then pulled out a small piece of parchment from within it, handing it to him without comment.

Severus felt a trickle of foreboding creep down his spine as his eyes fell upon the header of the official looking document.

It was Harry's birth certificate.

"It's a copy," Poppy said, her voice softer now, and shaking slightly. "I receive copies of all the students' birth documentation once they start school here. They're sent from the Ministry even before the Welcoming Feast commences. I don't normally have cause to look at them, but after last night..."

Severus lowered his eyes from the document's header to scan the rest, unsurprised, yet still feeling a pang of irritation upon seeing the father's name listed as James Potter. Pursing his lips, he skimmed to the bottom and blinked, doing a double-take when he read the name written beneath the parents'...

On a line labeled Birthing Healer, was a very neat, flowy signature that read: Poppy Pomfrey.

Ebony eyes snapped up, locking with tension-filled brown ones that seemed to already emanate the answer to Severus' next question. He asked it anyway.

"But Poppy... isn't this _your_ signature?"

Poppy swallowed.

"Yes," she whispered.

**Chapter End - TBC**

**A/N:** Another big 'thank you' to **YenGirl** for her assistance in improving this chapter. You're always such a huge help to me, Yen! ;)

The next chapter should be posted sometime between mid-July and late-July and will include more tantalizing clues about the mystery surrounding Harry's conception and birth. Some of those clues are revealed by Poppy, some by Albus and others by someone from the past, despite the fact that her voice was silenced over a decade ago...

**Please review.**


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